


raising chickens

by Jelly



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/M, one sided callum/claudia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:48:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23557852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jelly/pseuds/Jelly
Summary: It's a pretty standard assignment, assuming everything goes to plan.(They do not go to plan).A rayllum high school AU.
Relationships: Callum/Rayla (The Dragon Prince)
Comments: 83
Kudos: 245
Collections: The Dragon Prince





	1. Chapter 1

i.

It’s a pretty standard assignment.

Callum’s actually been pretty excited about it, because it’s a partner project, and if things go to plan, it’ll mean spending a _lot_ of extra time with the girl of his dreams. There’ll be excuses to hang out, and to invite her over, and maybe _she’ll_ invite _him_ over, and, best case scenario, he might even come out of this with Claudia on his arm as his date for the prom, or maybe even - the thought makes him blush - maybe even his _girlfriend_ , which would be - 

He doesn’t even have the words. 

They’ve known each other ages. His dad’s been friends with her dad since before Callum can even remember. They’d practically grown up together, and sure, her brother can be a little mean sometimes, but Claudia’s always been the nicest, sweetest, smartest girl he’s ever known, and she’s only grown into someone pretty and popular and altogether perfect since they started high school. It’s not like they’re not friends _now_ \- they know each other well enough to have each other’s numbers and to chat every now and then over Facebook, but they don’t really _hang out_ as much as they used to. Nowadays, she sits two seats ahead of him in science, cheeky smiles hidden behind her textbook, and passing notes discreetly along the row of desks to the friends she sits with at lunch behind Mr. Ibis' back.

They’re okay, but they’re not really the sort of friends Callum’s ultra comfortable around. They’re… _cliches._ Dithering girls who giggle at celebrities in magazines, and athletic boys like Soren who smirk at him for being slower and clumsier than they think boys ought to be. Not that any of that is bad in and of itself. Callum’s just - well - he’s a nerd, and he likes art, and music, and language, and he’s not really the right fit for their little clique.

Anyway, that’s why this assignment has so much potential. The premise is simple: partner up with someone else in class and keep an egg alive for a month. Classic. Uncomplicated. An excuse to spend time with Claudia outside her group of friends and to rekindle their friendship (and maybe even stoke it into something more). An easy plan, as straightforward as the assignment itself.

But things do not go to plan.

Mr. Ibis sets the crate of eggs on his desk with a patient, exasperated smile, and folds his arms across his chest, doing a silent headcount of his class instead of shouting over the din for roll call. Callum likes him as a teacher. He’s cool and lets him pick his brains whenever he’s curious, and he’s always been the type to encourage self-motivated learning instead of writing everything up on the whiteboard and expecting his students to learn theory without the practise.

When they don’t settle, he whistles, high and shrill and enough to make Callum wince, but the other kids shut up almost instantly. He grins and gestures vaguely at the crate. “You’re looking after eggs, starting today,” he declares. “Not that I think you’re all irresponsible and reckless teenagers, but this is a science class, and I’m not about to go making assumptions about you without testing for evidence. I’m sure you’re all familiar enough with this concept that I don’t have much to explain.”

There’s a whine from the back corner of class that makes Callum roll his eyes. 

“ _Why_ ?” complains a girl. One of Claudia’s friends, he thinks. Lyssa or something? He’s not really sure. “They’re just _eggs_. I don’t see how looking after them is relevant to anything.”

Mr. Ibis’ lips twitch into a smirk. “It’s _relevant_ because this is the start of our unit on _reproduction_ ,” he says patiently. “Something I’m sure you’re all _very_ curious about at your age, and something you shouldn’t start exploring until you’re aware of the various _consequences_ of your actions.”

The girl flushes - along with probably seventy percent of class. Callum stares down at his notebook, cheeks tinged pink and lips pressed shut, eyes set determinedly on the margin to avoid glancing at the back of Claudia’s head and thinking of the implications of this assignment.

“You’ll be taking care of your eggs for a month,” continues Mr. Ibis. Something about the lilt of his voice sounds amused. “There's extra credit involved if you can get yours to hatch, but otherwise, until the end of this unit, which we’ll be using to look at the science behind sexual reproduction and foetal development. From experience, this does tend to bring out immaturity in a lot of people, so let me assure you now that this is all entirely educational and I’m not particularly inclined to tolerate inappropriate behaviour in this class. These topics are _important_ and this is your _one_ warning, so if you don’t want a failing grade, I suggest we all keep our heads on straight for the duration of this unit. Any questions so far?”

There are none. Mr. Ibis is answered by silence, mostly because even the kids who routinely misbehave in his class are suddenly too embarrassed to play up. He nods at them, pleased, and spends the rest of the lesson outlining the topic. Callum is only half-listening - he’d asked about what they’d be covering this semester at the beginning of the year because he’s _that_ nerd, and Mr. Ibis had happily given him a heads up on all the syllabus in case he’d wanted to do some reading beforehand - which he had. 

He catches himself staring at the back of Claudia’s head twice, and finds himself doodling her in the corner of his notebook towards the end of class which he flushes at and covers hastily with the edge of his textbook, and he only really tunes in again when Mr. Ibis starts pairing them up himself. 

He breathes a sigh, because Mr. Ibis is pretty intuitive, and Callum _is_ one of his favourite students, so he’s relatively comfortable with this until he hears - 

“Claudia, you’re with Marcos.”

Wait, what?

Callum’s elbow slides off the desk.

“And Callum, you’ll be paired with -” Mr. Ibis pauses and taps his pen against his roll. “Rayla.”

_Wait, what?_

Callum swivels around in his chair, his jaw unhinged, his mouth bitter with disbelief. Rayla is - well - Rayla’s _nice_ , and she’s not the type to _misbehave_ in class, but she doesn’t seem to care much about her grades, either, and Callum - well. He _does_ care. He’s got his eye on a set of specific colleges after high school, and he’s not really here to settle for anything less than an _A minus._ Rayla… doesn’t seem to really care.

She takes the back corner desk of every class they have together, and he’s caught her dozing off more than once, even if his teachers _haven’t_ , and, most of all, she’s not _Claudia_ , and suddenly, Callum’s plan is falling to pieces before his eyes, and he gapes at Mr. Ibis, certain he must have made some mistake.

“Wait, I - uh -” He leans over and catches sight of Claudia, chatting to Marcos with her books clutched against her chest, her smile so dizzyingly pretty that Callum’s brain short circuits altogether and his words get jumbled up in his mouth. “I - Mr. Ibis, I - um -”

Mr. Ibis raises an eyebrow at him. “Is there a problem?”

Callum snaps his mouth shut and glances back at Rayla once more. For once, she isn’t staring out of the back window, and she arches an eyebrow at him too, the same question obvious in hard line of her lips. 

He grimaces and turns back to Mr. Ibis. “Are - are you sure you read those pairings out right?” 

Mr. Ibis purses his lips at him. “Pretty sure,” he says. There’s an amused sort of glimmer in the silver of his eyes that makes Callum wonder if he’s enjoying himself. “I assigned them, after all. I feel like I would know if I’d made a mistake.”

“But - um.” Callum flushes. The bell rings, high and shrilly, and his heart sinks as Claudia packs her things and leaves the room with Marcos, egg cradled carefully in her hands. She doesn’t even look back at him, and he knows that there’s no argument to be made here. The damage is done. Claudia is partnered with Marcos. And he’s stuck with -

“Don’t look so disappointed,” says Mr. Ibis mildly. He beckons Rayla forward, and vaguely, Callum hears her chair scrape back and the sound of her things being shoved unceremoniously into her messenger bag. “She won’t bite. I just think you both need to get to know each other. Who knows? This assignment might be good for you.” He offers him the egg as Rayla appears in the edges of his vision, silver hair in a messy knot at the base of her head, lilac eyes cold and unimpressed. 

Callum sinks into his chair, Mr. Ibis’ words ringing loudly in his ears.

_This assignment might be good for you._

Good. Sure. Callum’s not really sure ‘good’ is the word he would use.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It occurs to Callum far too late that he may have misjudged the situation. 

ii.

  
  


Rayla doesn’t mind Mr. Ibis usually - he’s a good teacher and he’ll leave her alone and allow her to slack off in his class provided she keeps her grades up (which she does) but _this_ she regards - and in no quiet manner - as a _dick move_ . Group projects are the worst at the best of times, but to be partnered with that try-hard, teacher’s pet _Callum kid_ for a month is a little much. He’s a know-it-all, and he tries too hard, and he cares about his grades _far_ more than he should, and not for the right reasons. 

_Rayla_ cares about her grades because the only way Runaan and Ethari will let her audition for the September intake of the Xadian Academy of Performing Arts is if she passes everything with nothing less than an A for enough credits to graduate at the end of this academic year.

 _Callum_ cares about his grades because he’s a brown-nosing nerd.

It’s harsh, but it’s true, and she’s never really had a lot of patience for anyone in this school, least of all people who act all high and mighty over something like their GPA. People like Callum. Hers is pretty fantastic too, if she does say so herself, but she doesn’t rub it in anyone's face, and she’s certainly not unreasonably proud of it.

Her GPA is a means to an end, and with any luck, it’ll get her out of this godforsaken school and into XAPA by the winter. 

The bell rings to signal lunch as Mr. Ibis offers Callum their egg and beckons her forward, and Rayla grits her teeth to keep the groan in her throat from slipping past her lips. Callum eyes her disdainfully as she approaches, his complaints written so obviously on his face that there’s not even a need to voice them. He takes the egg with a sigh, and Mr. Ibis nods at them both before he heads back to the front of class to clear the board for his next class.

Rayla clucks her tongue. Studies Callum with an air of impatience. Waits for _him_ to come up with some sort of plan before she grows tired of _that_ too, and holds out her hand. 

“I’ll take it,” she says shortly. 

Callum blinks at her. “Wait, what? Why?”

“Because I can build it an incubator when I get home and keep it there until the end of this dumb project,” says Rayla. It comes out colder than she intends, but something like defiance flashes in the green of Callum’s eyes, and he holds the egg to his chest defensively as he climbs out of his chair.

“It’s supposed to be a _partner project_ ,” he snaps. “You don’t even care about it, why should _you_ look after it?”

Rayla groans at him. “I care enough about it not to _fail_.”

“Yeah,” snorts Callum, “I’m aiming a little higher than _not failing_.” He gathers his things pointedly, his lips pulled downwards in a disapproving sort of frown, the egg clutched so tightly in one hand that Rayla almost wants to take it from him on the spot just to keep him from crushing it.

She narrows her eyes at him, suspicious, distrusting, but she knows in her head that he won’t settle for anything less than perfect, and it takes more effort than she wants to admit but, in the end, she bristles. “Fine,” she snaps, turning on her heel. “You take it then. Just keep it alive.”

Maybe he’d expected more of an argument or something, because she hears him scramble after her, tripping on someone else’s desk on his way out of the room.

“It’s a _partner project_ ,” he snaps. “We _both_ have to be involved.”

“Yeah, and I _offered_ -”

“To just _take it_ .” Callum scowls at her and cuts her off. Rayla’s almost impressed. She didn’t think he had the gall. He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, brushing the chestnut briefly out of his eyes. “Look,” he starts again. “Can we just - can we talk about this over lunch? Figure something out so that we can _both_ be part of this project and _both_ get what we want without getting in each other’s way?”

Rayla considers him. It’s a fair offer. It’d be the mature thing to do. But -

She glances at her phone. _Twelve Fifty-four._

_Great._

“I have stuff to do,” she grumbles, slipping the phone back into her pocket. 

“Over lunch?”

“Yeah,” she says shortly, trying to push past him. “Over lunch. Can’t you just message me or something?”

Callum shakes his head. He stands his ground, determined to block her path and waste more of the lunch hour unless she takes the time to hear him out. “Then I’ll just have lunch with you,” he insists. “Come on. The sooner we talk this over, the sooner we can leave each other alone. Okay?”

 _No_ , she wants to say, because it’s _not_ okay, and she doesn’t know why he’s making such a big deal out of working on this thing _together_ when _he_ obviously doesn’t like _her_ and _she_ obviously doesn’t have the patience to put up with _him_. Frankly, she thinks the best compromise would be for one of them to just take the egg and be done with it, but he’s still tailing her as she turns the corner and as the gym comes into view.

She can practically hear him hesitate as she pushes past the front entrance; as she rounds the corner and climbs the stairs to the upstairs dance studio; as she dumps her things in the locker by the door and pulls pointe shoes from her bag.

When he pipes up again, he sounds more confused than insistent. “ _This_ is where you spend your lunches?”

Rayla eyes him over her shoulder. “You can’t eat in here,” she grumbles. “They won’t let me practise in here anymore if you leave crumbs all over the floor.”

“I wasn’t going to-” He huffs and shakes his head. “I just - what are you practising for?”

Rayla _almost_ pauses. It’s not really what she expected but there’s a genuine sort of curiosity in his eyes that she finds she can’t fault him for. The honest truth is that she doesn’t like being in the cafeteria because she finds it too crowded and too loud, but auditions for XAPA aren’t too far off either, and she wants her routine to be _perfect_. Callum might be a little bit of a teacher’s pet, but he seems like he’d be the type to understand that, and really, there’s no harm in telling him -

But she shakes her head anyway and slings her shoes over her shoulder by their ribbons. “Just some performance,” she answers vaguely. “The egg?”

“Right. Um.” Callum shakes himself out of his stupor. He’d been staring at the studio, wide-eyed and open mouthed, and it wouldn’t surprise Rayla at all if he’d never set foot in this part of the school. She doesn’t know a lot about him, but she knows _enough_ to know that he’s terrible at anything involving hand-eye coordination and probably goes out of his way to avoid this building like his life depends on it. He takes a breath. “You can build an incubator?”

She shrugs. “My dad can,” she says. “He likes to tinker with things. Might be able to put something together for it.”

He nods. “I think something like that might be good for the report,” he says. “If we include it in our methods and stuff, we’re bound to get extra points for it. And I only live, like, five minutes away, so I figure it might be easiest to keep it at my place. If - if that’s okay with you. And I can maybe put together like a - a plan or something that suits both our schedules so we can both check in on it regularly but I can only really do that with you so…” He trails off awkwardly, one hand in the mop of his hair, eyes on the hardwood floor. “Look, I can go, if you like? I feel like I’m intruding here. I just - I wanna do well on this. It’s just… y’know… a _partner_ project.”

Of course he does. Rayla hadn’t really expected anything less and in her head, she knows he’s right. Mr. Ibis knows copied notes when he sees them and he’s not above failing people for plagiarism which Callum would hate and she can’t afford. The only way they can both get what they want is to work together and that’s the truth of it. She sighs. 

“I need to change,” she says, resigned. “But we can talk while I warm up. Deal?”

Callum brightens considerably. “Deal.”

x

It occurs to Callum far too late that he may have misjudged the situation. 

The first thing he realizes is this: Maybe Rayla _does_ care - not as much as he does, but _enough_ to put in _some_ amount of effort. If they have any hope of getting top marks for this, it lies with hatching this egg, and the fact that she’d offered to _build an incubator_ straight up - that’s gotta count for something. It’s not what he expected from her - but then that’s the second thing.

He… doesn’t really know her. Like. _At all._

He’d never bothered to because there’d never been a reason. He’d always thought she was stand-offish and kind of cold, which isn’t untrue, but suddenly there’s more to her, and she’s not just another nameless member of his class. He hadn’t even _noticed_ that she didn’t spend her lunch hour in the cafeteria with the rest of the school, let alone that she spent it _dancing_ in the school dance studio. He spends a fair amount of time in the arts department too, and yet -

“How long have you been dancing?” he blurts.

He’s seated in the corner of the studio, notebook open on his lap, egg nestled carefully in his scarf on the hardwood. It’s not like the page is _completely_ blank - he’s got her after school schedule scribbled in the margin so they can start on some sort of plan, but she’s been warming up this whole time and he can’t help but be fascinated.

Rayla glances at him in mid-stretch. “Since I was a kid,” she answers awkwardly - like she’s not really sure why he’s asking or how to respond in the first place.

Callum purses his lips. “Do you just do ballet or…?”

“It’s… the one I’m best at.” She looks away. The action isn’t cold. Just… unsure, he thinks. “This isn’t about the egg.”

“Right, right, yeah.” Callum stares at his notebook. He’s got a list of things they need for an incubator too, but it’s a whole half minute before he realizes he’s not making any actual progress. The grace of Rayla’s movements is distracting, and he’ll admit that freely. “Are you gonna dance professionally after high school?”

Rayla groans at him. “I thought you were only staying to discuss this project.”

Callum flushes. “I am!” he sputters. “I’m just - I didn’t - I had no idea that - that -”

She rolls her eyes, obviously done with the conversation. “We’ll need some stuff for this incubator,” she says sharply. The uncertainty is gone now, and there’s a hardness in her eyes that’s determined to get back to business. “If you keep it under a lamp tonight and make sure the temperature’s within range, I can pick up some things after school and we can build the thing tomorrow. Good enough for you?”

Callum only flushes deeper. It’d been at _his_ insistence that they discuss this for some sort of plan of attack, but he’d been so _baffled_ by this discovery about Rayla’s character that he couldn’t bring himself to concentrate. “Yeah,” he mutters. “Sounds good.”

“Can I rehearse now?”

“Yeah.” He hides the ever-deepening blush in the bow of his head as he scrambles to get his things together, cursing himself for being so easily distracted. “I’ll message you?”

“Right,” says Rayla. She pauses. Then she leaves the barre and takes his notebook from him before he has the chance to put it away. She scribbles something in the corner, her eyes flitting briefly across the page like she’s making sure he hasn’t missed anything. “Text me with what you don’t have. I’ll see if I can find the rest.”

“Sounds good.”

There’s a pause. Rayla hands him back his notebook with an _almost_ smile, her phone number sharp and spindly and out of place in the corner of the page, and turns on her heel to put on some music. Callum doesn’t recognise the piece - it’s languid and full of high strings, and he’s sure Ezran might know it, if he heard it, but Rayla waves him out of the studio before he can ask.

“See you tomorrow, I guess?” he says stupidly.

Rayla _does_ smile at that. “Sure,” she says. “See you tomorrow.”

x

Callum keeps the egg tucked safely in his scarf for the rest of the day, warming it with a heat pack courtesy of Lujanne, the school nurse, and turning it carefully in its little nest of fabric to keep the heat as even as he can. When he gets home, he turns on his desk lamp and sets it under the beam with a thermometer to make sure it doesn’t overheat.

It’s not until Ez comes home and dumps his bag in the corner that he realizes he’s been staring at it for almost an hour.

“What are you doing?”

“Hm?” Callum’s elbow slides off the desk, and he offers his brother something like a grin as he leans back in his desk chair. “Just a school project. I’m trying to get it to hatch.”

Ez raises an eyebrow at him. “I think you’re gonna need more than a desk lamp to do that.”

“Rayla’s on that,” says Callum absently. “This is just temporary until we can build a proper incubator for it.”

Ez’s eyebrow rises further, curiosity clear in the bright blue of his eyes. “You’re doing this with Rayla?”

Callum blinks. “You know Rayla?”

“Yeah,” says Ez, nodding eagerly. “Sometimes we play for her when she has exams. Me and Ellis and the others, I mean. It makes us look super good, and it’s a heck of a lot cheaper for her than finding professional accompanists. I didn’t know you were friends.”

“We’re not,” Callum admits. “I mean. Not really. I didn’t even know she did ballet.”

Ez makes a face at him, eyebrows knitting together in way that asks him _how?_ without having to ask him out loud. He shakes his head. “She’s really good, huh?”

“Yeah,” breathes Callum. “I think so, anyway. I’ve… never really seen any ballet to know what’s good and what’s not but she’s…” He pauses. “How well do you know her, exactly?”

“Well enough.” Ez shrugs at him and collapses into the bed with a sigh. “Why?”

Why indeed? Callum doesn’t really know. Rayla seems… nice, and he just kind of wishes he knew more about her, that’s all. He turns away, in the end. “No reason,” he answers. “Just curious.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I think… I may have gotten the wrong impression,” he admits quietly. “And I think I gave _you_ the wrong impression. And - you know - we’re partners and all for this project. It just… feels like a good idea to start over."

iii.

  
  


“An incubator, huh?” 

Ethari tilts his head curiously at the assignment sheet in his hand, and Rayla shrugs and turns back to the saucepan on the stove. It’s just her and him tonight - Runaan’s away at a meet and won’t be home for days yet. The pasta simmers away, fragrant and peppery, and Rayla hums, pleased, as she stirs at the sauce. “Yeah, it’s  _ that _ assignment,” she snorts. “Not Mr. Ibis’ most creative idea, but I mean, I get it.” She wrinkles her nose.

“You don’t seem pleased,” comments Ethari mildly.

Rayla shrugs again. “It’s a partner project,” she mumbles.

“Get stuck with someone you don’t like?”

“I don’t like most people,” scoffs Rayla. “But. I guess it could be worse. Callum’s just… I’ve never really had anything to do with him. His brother’s a sweetheart - you know him. Ezran? He’s in that quartet that plays for some of my exams. Callum, though…” She grimaces and waves her hand from side to side. 

“I’m sure he’s not so bad,” says Ethari. He lays the assignment sheet down and crosses his arms in front of his chest. “Maybe you just need some time to get to know each other.”

“I’m sure.” Rayla rolls her eyes at him and switches off the stove. “Anyway. Callum’s keeping the egg warm with a lamp, a heat pack, and his scarf. What can we pick up, and what can we put together?”

“Well.” Ethari presses his lips together, his eyes thoughtful. “I mean, a rudimentary incubator’s not hard to set up. A box will help - one that’ll keep in warmth and humidity but still allow some ventilation. You can keep using the lamp, assuming it’s warm enough, and you can put a little pan of water in there for humidity, but otherwise that’s all you need. Want me to pick some stuff up while you’re at school tomorrow?”

_ That _ makes Rayla smile. Ethari works from home, usually. He’s a jeweller, but in his spare time, he plays around a little with antique clocks and old radios. It’s pretty busy around this time of year - lots of custom orders for couples who want to get married in the summer - so he doesn’t have as much time to tinker as much as he’d like but his enthusiasm is catching. Part of her wonders if the incubator thing is a way for him to enjoy his hobbies vicariously. “If you like,” she says. “But - I kinda said I’d help him build it at his place tomorrow afternoon. Is that okay?”

“Why would it not be?” Ethari shrugs and smirks at her over his tea, eyes sparkling in a way that she can’t  _ quite _ read. “I dunno much about Callum, but between the two of you, I’d say  _ you’re _ the corrupting influence.”

“ _ Wow. _ ” Rayla laughs in spite of herself and tosses the tea towel resting over her shoulder at his face. He catches it deftly, but she only shakes her head and begins to plate up. “I’ll let you know how we go,” she adds. “You make it sound like it’ll be really easy.”

“It will be,” says Ethari, shifting eagerly in his seat. “Enough about that though. How’s your routine coming along for the XAPA audition?”

Rayla’s smile falters a little, even as she sets his pasta in front of him and drops into her usual space at the table. “Could be better,” she mumbles, staring down at her dinner uncertainly. “It’s not… good enough.”

Ethari raises an eyebrow at her, a frown tugging downwards at his lips. “What do you mean?”

Rayla says nothing for a moment. She fiddles with her fork and stares listlessly down at her plate, the worries and anxieties she’d been so  _ determined _ to ignore piling uncontrollably in her chest. Her whole family is made up of excellence: Ethari the premiere jeweller in the state; Runaan a gold medal gymnast; her mother the principal dancer of the Silvergrove Ballet Company; her father a teacher in advanced technique at XAPA. It’s not as if they’ve never been encouraging - her parents aren’t home often, but when they are, they’re nothing but supportive, and Ethari and Runaan want nothing more than to do what they can to help her succeed -

But there’s a lot of pressure there regardless and… well… she’s not sure she’ll ever live up to it.

Her technique is perfect. Every leap is full of height, every landing is full of grace, but there’s something about her routine that’s not  _ quite _ right, and she’s rehearsed it a million times now but it only feels worse every time. 

Ethari promises her it’s enough.

Runaan swears that it’s flawless.

But the people whose opinions matter most - the ones who’d recognise the missing pieces, who’d correct her missteps, whom she most wants to make proud -  _ aren’t here _ , and that does little to settle her fears.

There’s nothing Ethari can say to her that’ll fix  _ that. _

She shakes her head and forces a smile. “I think I just need to practise it more, y’know? It  _ has _ to be perfect. I wanna be able to do it in my sleep.”

Ethari chuckles a little. “You’re starting to sound like Runaan,” he says, digging into his pasta. 

“Yeah, well. He’s not a four time Olympic gold medalist for nothing.”

“No,” says Ethari, although his smile looks almost rueful. “I suppose he’s not.”

x

The following school day passes mostly the same way it always does. Rayla goes about her usual business in the backs of her classes: half paying attention, half reviewing her routines in her head courtesy of the one earphone plugged into her right ear. She counts the beats under her breath and taps her pencil against her notes, but partway through English, she feels the back of her neck prickle with someone else’s gaze.

She tries to ignore it for the most part - she’s never cared much about what other people think of her, and she’s certainly not about to start caring now - but it puts her on edge, nonetheless. She almost makes it through the whole period, but then Miss Opeli turns her back and she can’t take it anymore. 

She turns in her seat, her hackles raised, her eyes cold -

But it’s just Callum, two rows over, and he looks more curious than anything else. His lips tilt upwards into a sheepish kind of smile, and for once there’s no judgement or disapproval in the way he looks at her. He glances down at his notes and hesitates, just for a moment, before he scribbles something against the top edge and holds it up for her to read.

_ Will you be in the dance studio again over lunch? _

Rayla blinks at him. It’s not what she expected, and in her surprise, she forgets to be stony about it. She nods.

Callum pauses a second time, and when he raises his book again, he’s written something else.

_ Can I join you? _

Again,  _ not  _ what she expected, but even in her stupor, the  _ why?  _ echoes in her chest. It’s not like they’ve ever gone out of their way to ignore each other but his sudden interest is… she wants to say suspect, but that’s not really the word. Most of the other kids in their grade leave her alone, and that’s how she prefers it, and yet -

She frowns, unsure of him.

Then the bell rings and she nearly jumps out of her skin. 

She looks away before he does; tugs her one earphone out of her ear and shoves her books back into her messenger bag, hoping maybe she won’t have to answer the question at all, but the next thing she knows is his presence next to her desk, his books tucked under one arm, his smile a little nervous but genuine all the same.

“I don’t have to if you don’t want me to,” he says. “I just… I didn’t realize you knew Ez.”

Rayla raises an eyebrow at him. “And that’s reason enough to want to have lunch with me, is it?”

Callum flushes. He ducks his head, one hand running awkwardly through his hair, and tries to brush it off with a chuckle. “I think… I may have gotten the wrong impression,” he admits quietly. “And I think I gave  _ you _ the wrong impression. And - you know - we’re partners and all for this project. It just… feels like a good idea to start over. Ez says you’re an amazing dancer.”

For the third time in the space of about ten minutes, Rayla finds herself a little taken aback. Callum’s  _ full  _ of surprises today, and in spite of the way her gut instinct is to raise her defenses, he’s so earnest that she can’t bring herself to wave him away. “Does he?” she asks instead, skeptical, but not cold.

He nods at her eagerly. “He said he plays for your exams sometimes?”

“Sometimes.” Rayla swings her messenger bag over her shoulder and gets up with a huff. “Your brother’s a pretty talented cellist himself.”

“Don’t I know it,” chuckles Callum, although there’s a hint of pride in the way he says it. “He’s been playing forever. I actually think he learned how to hold a bow before he ever learned how to hold a pencil.”

Rayla scoffs at that. “That doesn’t surprise me,” she says drily. They step out of Miss Opeli’s classroom together, and she pauses awkwardly in the crowded hall. He’s making such an effort, it feels  _ wrong _ to just leave him standing there now, even if she does have Gym next and he has - she doesn’t even know. 

She doesn’t know much about him at all, she realizes, and part of her wonders if maybe he’s right. Maybe they do have the wrong impression of each other.

Maybe that’s why he’s trying so hard now.

Rayla shuffles on the spot, unsure how to continue this conversation - or if she should continue it in the first place. There’s two whole minutes before their next classes start, and the gym’s not so far away that she can’t make an effort. She coughs. “How’s the egg?” she asks finally.

Callum’s grin widens. “Doing good, I think. I found a box for it. Put a little thermometer in there to make sure it doesn’t get too hot or too cold. Ez wants to name it.”

“Does he?” laughs Rayla.

Callum nods. “He wants to wait for you, though. Says it’s our project and we should at least agree on a name together.” He fiddles with the hem of his jacket, like he knows this is getting awkward but he’s not quite ready for it to end. Then he takes a breath. “So,” he starts. Rayla catches the  _ almost _ -wince that crosses his face - the one that  _ hopes _ he doesn’t sound as weird as he probably feels. “About lunch.”

Rayla shrugs at him and shifts the strap of her bag. “You can come if you want,” she says quickly. “I dunno that you’ll find it as interesting as you think you will but it’s not  _ my _ studio, and I can’t stop you.”

“Cool!” His voice cracks as he says it, and Callum clears his throat looking flustered and red. “I mean.  _ Cool _ . I’ll see you at lunch then?”

“I guess.” She steps out of his way with a shy kind of smile, letting him ease past her with an excited, clumsy wave. Then he’s gone, and she’s standing alone in the crowded hallway with her books pressed to her chest and her messenger bag cutting into her shoulder, unsure of what just happened, and even more so that she’d  _ agreed. _

x

Claudia’s waiting for him when he gets to Latin. It’s probably the one class they  _ do _ talk to each other in, if only because there’s only nine other people in it, but even then, it’s pretty rare for her to actively seek him out. Usually she sits on the other side of the classroom with her other friends, but today she thumps her textbook on the desk next to Callum and collapses into the seat looking tired but strangely intrigued.

Callum’s first reaction is to hide the blush rising in his cheeks, because she hasn’t been this close to him in  _ ages _ and gosh, her smile’s pretty, even if it is a little too curious for his liking. “Claudia,” he greets, putting on his smoothest voice. (It doesn’t come out smooth  _ at all _ ). “Hey. Uh. How’s it going?”

“Good,” she says, big green eyes shining and full of charm in the weak sunlight. “How’s it going with  _ you? _ ”

“Oh, uh.” Callum flashes a grin at her, hoping the warmth in his face is, at the very least,  _ not _ obvious. “Good! Good, everything’s good. I was just thinking about you. About - about how we haven’t hung out in ages, I mean.” He cringes at the way it sounds, but Claudia pays him no mind.

She only smiles wider, and something like mischief flashes across her face. “ _ Same _ ,” she drawls. “I was gonna ask if you wanted to come sit with us at lunch. We need time to catch up.”

“ _ This _ lunch?” Callum swallows, his own smile faltering just a little. “I - uh - I can’t today. I said I’d have lunch with Rayla.”

“ _ Oh _ ?” Something else crosses Claudia’s face. Something  _ less _ friendly. If Callum didn’t know her so well, he might not have noticed it at all. “I didn’t realize you two were  _ friends. _ ”

“We’re not,” admits Callum. “I mean. Not yet. But she seems nice.”

“Hm.” Claudia sneers. Is it a sneer? Callum’s not sure - or maybe he just doesn’t want to believe that it’s a sneer. Either way, he doesn’t like it. It doesn’t suit her. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather hang out with us?”

“I mean.” He purses his lips, his forehead creasing  _ just _ a little. “I’m not gonna bail on her. Not when  _ I _ asked  _ her _ if it was okay to join her. Besides, I don’t really…  _ know _ anyone else at your table. Other than you, I mean.”

“You don’t really know  _ her _ ,” counters Claudia, which, Callum supposes, is true, but he’s still not sure what the big deal is, and there’s something bitter about the way she says it that puts him on edge. “I’m just saying,” she adds casually. “You should… be careful around her. I don’t want you to start, y’know, hanging out with the wrong crowds.”

The wrong crowds? Callum’s frown deepens. “Ez likes her,” he says stubbornly, not so certain he knows why he’s being stubborn about it to begin with. “He’s usually a pretty good judge of character.”

“He is,” says Claudia. “But… just be careful. I’m just looking out for you, Callum.” She offers him a smile that doesn’t really meet her eyes and straightens in her desk.

He doesn’t get the chance to ask her what she means.

Honestly, he’s not really sure he wants to. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You don’t mind if I draw in here right?”

iv.

  
  


Rayla’s not really sure what she expected, but it’s still a surprise when she finds Callum waiting for her by the gym at lunch. He looks only a little out of place—the volleyball team gives him odd stares as they pass him by for their lunch time practise because even  _ they _ seem to know that this is not his neck of the woods—but if he notices, he doesn’t show it and he looks happy to be there all the same. Rayla spots him from all the way across the courtyard because of his scarf: bright red against the deep blue of his uniform jacket, so typically him that it’d be weird if he  _ wasn’t _ wearing it, but so obviously not to code that she wonders how he’s managed to get away with it to begin with. Maybe being such a teachers’ pet has its perks after all.

He’s snorting over something on his phone when she gets there. Something about it catches her off guard and she’s not sure if it’s just because she’s never bothered with him enough to notice or if the ease in his posture is just catching. Then he looks up at her and grins, lopsided and charming, and Rayla has to bite her tongue to keep herself from smiling back. 

“Look at what my dad sent me,” he says, offering her the phone.

Rayla takes it feeling dubious, but then she actually looks at the photo on the screen and barks out a laugh. It’s his dad (she only knows it’s him because he looks like Ezran and she’s seen him dropping him off at various rehearsals) in a poorly shot selfie with the egg and a thumbs up captioned  _ ‘ur prjct’s doing eggscellent’ _ followed by three smileys and a chicken. Rayla hands it back with an exasperated shake of her head. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Funny, though?”

“Mostly ridiculous, but sure.” Rayla rolls her eyes and shoulders her way through the double doors of the gym. Callum follows behind her like an excited puppy, eyes bright and practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Same as yesterday, I guess,” she says, letting him into the studio. “Help yourself to… the floor.” It comes out awkward and stilted, but Callum only obliges her happily while she ducks into the changing rooms. When she comes back, he’s seated in the same corner he was in yesterday with his backpack in a heap beside him and a sketchbook in his lap.

“You don’t mind if I draw in here right?”

Rayla only shrugs. “Why would I mind?” she asks, crossing the room to the speaker. “Just don’t leave those little eraser bits on the floor.”

He nods and falls silent after that. Rayla watches him through the mirror while she warms up, intrigued by how quickly his pencil darts across the page despite the way she pretends she’s not curious about what’s on it in the first place. Then the languid, airy strings of Rimsky-Korsakov’s  _ Scheherazade _ echo through the room and she forces herself to forget he’s there altogether.

He turns out to be a very good audience. Rayla’s been dancing all her life and she’s relatively used to performing but there’d been some part of her that’d thought this might have been harder. She doesn’t know Callum well at all, but it’s different from being on a stage in front of a room of faceless strangers. Letting him in on a rehearsal like this, without the makeup and the costumes and the bun pulled tight at the top of her head feels…  _ personal _ in a way she can’t describe. Still, he watches with childlike awe, and saves his questions for when the music’s been paused, and claps at the end of her routine, full of praise and compliments that don’t really help but are nice all the same, even as Rayla tweaks and tweaks and  _ tweaks _ until it feels like there’s nothing left to alter.

“I mean… I can’t really see the difference,” admits Callum after her fifth run through. “But from an outside perspective, it looks  _ amazing. _ ”

“Well, thanks,” says Rayla, flattered, if a little wry. “It’s different when you know there are problems though.”

“I kinda get that.” He holds his sketchbook up to her. “People compliment me on these all the time but… I drew them, y’know? If there’s anyone who knows where the flaws are, it’s me.”

Rayla smiles a little at that. The empathy is nice.

They while away the rest of the lunch hour talking in between runs—Rayla learns he’s been drawing for years and that he wants to be in animation and that Ez wants to be a vet when he’s older, despite his obvious talent for music. In turn, Rayla answers his questions about her exams, and the names of certain positions, and the pieces she’s liked dancing to most. By the end of the hour, it feels like they’ve talked more than she’s danced and it feels…  _ nice _ for a change. She’ll guilt herself for it later, probably, but for now, this is okay. It’s been a pleasant lunchtime, and she thinks maybe she’s been a little harsh.

He’s not that bad. Not really. This was… nice. So much so that when the warning bell rings for fifth period, Rayla finds herself feeling almost disappointed. Judging by the way Callum pulls his things together into a hesitant, clumsy pile, he thinks so too.

“So… thanks for letting me watch,” he says. “This was really cool.”

Rayla’s lips twitch a little. “If you say so. I don’t know that you found it as interesting as you say you did but—”

“No, I did! I learned so much! And Ez said you were an incredible dancer but it’s just so crazy to me that, all this time, I had no idea!”

“Well,” says Rayla, shifting her weight from foot to foot, a little unsure on how to take the compliment. “I don’t really make it a point to advertise.”

Callum cocks his head at her. “Why not? You’re brilliant!”

_ Not brilliant enough _ , her brain grumbles ruefully, but Rayla only shakes her head. “Thanks, I guess,” is all she says. “About that project—”

“Oh, right.” Callum adjusts his backpack against his shoulder. “My place is about twenty minutes from here if you don’t mind walking. We can wait for you at the front gate so we can all go together. Is that okay?”

“Sure,” says Rayla. “I guess I’ll just have Ethari meet us out there with the rest of the stuff and we’ll build it at yours?”

Callum nods eagerly. “Perfect!” he says. “I’ll see you after school then?”

His enthusiasm is so infectious that Rayla can’t help but chuckle. “Sounds good,” she agrees. “See you after school.”

And Callum grins, and waves, and leaves her then to go to his usual Tuesday afternoon classes (History and then Physics), and then Rayla’s alone again for her free period, only the school dance studio suddenly feels a lot bigger now that he’s gone. The relative silence presses against her ears and the stillness of the air feels clipped—like it misses the other half of the conversation that’d filled it five minutes ago. She shivers under the air conditioning—had she always had the temperature set so low?—and catches the paleness of her face in the mirror: thin lipped, impassive, professional—the hardworking, no-nonsense kind of attitude XAPA loves to see in its students that she’s spent most of her highschool career trying to perfect.

_ Scheherazade _ , which she hadn’t realized was still even playing, fades into silence, and Rayla breathes in, trying to adjust again to the quiet— 

But then the track switches.

A cacophony of brass fills the room. Rayla jumps and fumbles for her phone. 

She’d know that intro anywhere, of course— _ In the Mood _ is hard to mistake for anything else, and her thumb hovers over the skip button as something like a smile pulls upwards at her lips.

Dad had taught her how to swing to this years ago. They used to move the furniture so they could dance in the living room while Mum watched them from the kitchen, chuckling to herself as she put the pasta on to boil and hummed along with the melody. Their house was warm and the dancing was imperfect—Rayla used to trip gracelessly over the folds in the rug but it didn’t matter because Dad caught her in time and acted like it was part of the routine. They’d debate about which piece Mum would dance to for her next performance, and Dad would complain about the students who only  _ pretended  _ to practise, and Rayla would do her schoolwork to the sound of tinny jazz and obscure, unimaginatively-named concertos— 

It was a simpler time. A sweeter time. When things didn’t matter so much and Mum and Dad were always home.

Then Mum joined the Silvergrove Ballet Company, and XAPA came calling for Dad.

Rayla shakes her head and skips the track.

x

Ethari meets them at the front gate with a smile and a little cooler filled with sawdust and a couple of probes. “To help keep an eye on temperature and humidity,” he explains, pointing at the appropriate lead in turn. “It’s probably a little extra for a high school science project about looking after an egg, but it’ll look good on your report.”

“I’ll bet!” says Callum, examining the little monitor like a kid at Christmas time. Rayla fights the urge to roll her eyes and wonders how she hadn’t noticed how alike he and Ethari are. “Where’d you even get this?”

“A jeweller has his ways,” says Ethari with a wink. “But you can get probes like these at pet stores, particularly if you’re looking after amphibians.”

“Whoa, really?” Ez lights up too. If Rayla hadn’t already known he and Callum were brothers, she’d  _ definitely _ know by now. The sparkle in their eyes is too similar for them not to be. “Where? Callum, can we go some time? I’ve been wanting to get Bait some new stuff for ages and if we can get one for him too, that’d be awesome!”

“Sure,” chuckles Callum. “Maybe this weekend?”

“There’s one close to our place,” offers Ethari. “Rayla knows it. She could probably take you.”

_ “Ethari.” _

“What? I’d take them myself but I have orders to take care of this weekend, and if they’re going to be there anyway…” 

Ethari winks at Ez, and Ez turns to Rayla, big blue eyes shining with hope and excitement, and—mischief? He grins, knowing it’s too late, knowing Rayla’s not far off from agreeing  _ anyway _ —because she isn’t, and she owes him and his quartet for the free accompaniment at the very  _ least _ —but she resists anyway, for the two seconds that she can, before she folds.

She groans. “ _ Fine _ ,” she mutters, shooting a sour scowl at Ethari. “We’ll talk about it later, all right? Let’s just go and build this stupid incubator.”

Ez throws his arms up, eager and excited, and Ethari grins at the three of them and steps back towards the car. “What time should I pick you up this evening then?”

“After dinner,” says Ez before Rayla can even open her mouth. Even Callum gives him a  _ look _ then but he only ignores it. “Dad makes too much pasta anyway and I was hoping we could talk performance stuff for the festival next month after the egg’s taken care of.” He glances at Rayla too late—like he’s only just realized he hasn’t even asked  _ her _ if that’s cool with her.

It is—she’s there, she may as well—but  _ Ethari _ gives  _ her  _ a look this time, and Rayla withers under his gaze because she… well… in perfect honesty, she’d forgotten. The Katolis Fall Arts Festival happens every year, and she performs in it, usually, with Ezran and his friends accompanying her as part of their own repertoire, but in the flurry of applications and choreography and rehearsals for the XAPA audition, the idea of one more local gig had completely slipped her mind. Deeper down, she thinks it’s more of a hope that she won’t be here for it.

“Oh, is  _ that _ what you’re rehearsing for?” asks Callum. “That’s so cool! We go every year for Ez, but we’ve never seen the dance section! Can we come and watch you too?”

Rayla presses her lips shut. She pauses. And then, “We can talk about it  _ after _ the egg’s taken care of. Let’s just get a move on, okay?”

Ethari lingers, looking intrigued by the ambiguity of her response, but in the end, he shrugs and climbs back into the car. “See you after dinner then,” he bids through the open window.

Rayla nods and waves after him as he puts the car into gear and pulls onto the road. He disappears around the corner, and then it’s just her and the boys with the cooler hitched awkwardly against her hip and something uneasy roiling away in her stomach.

“You okay?” asks Callum after a moment. He prods her side and Rayla startles. “You’re making a face.”

“Am I?” She shakes her head. “Don’t worry about it. It’s fine. Let’s just go.”

And they do. The boys turn to start their walk home and Rayla falls into step behind them, only half-listening to their conversation as she kicks loose stones along the pavement. It’s not until they turn into Callum and Ezran’s street that she realizes the thing churning in her stomach is  _ guilt _ .

What it’s doing there in the first place, she doesn’t really know. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at me, updating wips, what's even happening right now???
> 
> Rayla's performance piece can be found [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6kaQNPPuizs&ab_channel=RobertKwiatkowski) (it's my favourite, back off). In the Mood can be found [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_CI-0E_jses&ab_channel=symir547).


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You didn’t have to come out with us.”
> 
> “Mm.” Rayla shifts a little, a half smirk on her lips. “And disappoint Ez? What kind of monster would I be if I did that?"

v.

  
  


“What about Zym?”

The question is a little out of left field but Callum’s only half listening anyway. Rayla’s part of town isn’t actually that far away from where they live but it’s still weird to be out here--they’ve never had a reason to be before, but even weirder still is the fact that Rayla’s _with them_ . Callum’d spent the rest of the week ducking in and out of her rehearsals so it’s not like he hasn’t grown used to her presence. They’re… _almost_ friends now, he thinks? They don’t talk _a lot_ when he joins her over lunch, but when they do, there’s always _some_ common ground between them—artist problems, homework, _jokes_ , even—that makes the studio feel less cold. 

It’s a bit strange to see her out of uniform though. Callum’s seen her in her rehearsal gear, but it’s not the same. Her posture is less straight, her face is less tight, and she seems altogether more relaxed in gym tights and sneakers than the stiff material of their uniform blues. Green suits her better anyway. It brings out her eyes. Callum thinks she looks almost amused as Ez rattles off the names for their egg he’s collected over the week.

“Zym?” she asks from the back seat. Callum catches the way her eyebrow lifts in the rearview mirror. He’s driving because Ez can’t, obviously, and though Rayla’d offered to just meet them there, it’d made more sense to carpool. “Left here,” she adds to Callum, and Callum turns as the big yellow _Petbarn_ sign comes into view in the distance.

“Short for Azymondias,” says Ez, craning his head around the passenger seat to grin at her. “It’s one of my favourites.”

“Azymondias like the poem?” asks Callum, and Rayla shakes her head.

“That’s an _O_ ,” she says pointedly. (Callum blinks, unsure why he’s surprised that she knows what he’s talking about at all. Not many people their age do, he supposes. It’s nice that she does, and he’s reminded, again, that she’s far from the slacker he thought she was.) “I dunno, seems a bit… pompous for a chicken.”

Ez shrugs his shoulders. “It’s more interesting than Hen-ry,” he says, “which by the way, is _still_ terrible.” He shoots a look at Callum, and Callum grins, sheepish but entertained. “I’m not letting you name your chicken a pun that bad.”

“It’s not even hatched, Ez, does it really need a name?”

“ _Yes_ ,” says Ez, “because then you’re less likely to let it _die_.”

“We were never going to let it _die_ , Ezran,” says Rayla from the back. She looks practically offended. “Grades aside, we were always going to take good care of it. It’s a _chicken_ , not a bag of flour.”

“Not everyone feels that way,” says Ez. “What are you gonna do with it when it hatches?”

Callum hums as he pulls into the free park a little way down from the entrance. “Give it back to Mr. Ibis, I guess,” he says. “It’s not going to end up in a nugget, if that’s what you’re asking. I think he might want to bring any that hatch into a pet store like this so they can find good homes.”

“Aw.” Ez’s lips pull downward into something like a pout. “I kinda wanted to keep it.”

Callum chuckles, and he’s about to rebut it maturely (where are they going to keep a chicken anyway?) when Rayla catches his eye again in the mirror and the words stall on his tongue.

“We can ask,” she offers, unclipping her seatbelt. “I don’t think Mr. Ibis would mind.”

Callum swivels around in his seat now, because it’s sweet that she’d do that for Ez, but the logistics aren’t quite so straightforward. He frowns at her. “We can’t keep a chicken.”

“They’re not that hard to look after,” she says. “They don’t need much. And if it hatches and it’s a girl, you’ll get free eggs.”

“Yeah, okay, that’s great and all but I dunno that Dad’s going to _let_ us _keep a chicken._ ”

“If you can’t, I can.” The offer comes out so casually that it looks like even Rayla had forgotten to actually consider it. Something crosses her face—Callum’s so familiar with the _why did I say that?_ look that he catches it before she has the chance to hide it. Her eyes widen, her lips press shut, and he wonders if she’s about to take it back before Ez brightens in the front passenger seat and flashes a grin so dazzling that Callum knows it’s already too late.

“Could you?” he asks eagerly. “I mean, I’ll ask our dad first, obviously, but if he says no, would you really—?”

Rayla _does_ hesitate this time. It’s like she thinks she’s overstepped—and she has, a little, but it’s not a big deal, really, especially because she’d offered to keep a chicken _for Ez_ and Callum can’t really oppose _that_ —before her shoulders dip a little in resignation. “Only if your dad says no,” she says finally. “And that’s assuming a heck of a lot anyway. We’ll do our best, but there’s no _guarantee_ that we can hatch it.”

Ez probably doesn’t even hear the second half of the sentence. He claps his hands together excitedly and all but leaps out of the car. “Ah! You’re the best, thanks Rayla!” he cries.

Rayla’s lips twitch upwards, and there’s an apology in her eyes when she looks at Callum, but Callum only shrugs half-heartedly and pulls his keys out of the ignition.

“He’s hard to say no to."

“So I’ve noticed.” She snorts to herself and climbs out of the car, hands in her pockets and only looking a little out of place. Callum gets the feeling she doesn’t get the time to go out like this often, and when she does, she probably spends it at home or in the studio rehearsing some more. 

They fall into step together as Ez bounds ahead and into the store. The pause between them doesn’t feel so awkward anymore—it borders on comfortable; companionable, even—but there’s still an edge of hesitance in it, mostly in the weird blockiness of Rayla’s movements. It’s only kind of weird? Callum’s seen the grace she moves with in the studio, so it does feel a tiny bit funny to watch _her_ be the clumsy one for a change, but he gets it. It feels like she’s just out of her element. He nudges her elbow gently. “You didn’t _have_ to come out with us.”

“Mm.” Rayla shifts a little, a half smirk on her lips. “And disappoint Ez? What kind of monster would I be if I did that? Besides, I owe him.”

Callum barks out a laugh. “He doesn’t hold you to any of that, you know. He _likes_ accompanying you when you dance. He wouldn’t talk his quartet into doing it for free if he didn’t.”

“All the more reason to not disappoint him,” says Rayla with a laugh. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it. I just… don’t hang out often, I guess. There’s always stuff to do. Things to rehearse for. You get it.”

“I mean. I guess.” Callum pauses at the entrance of the store to hold the door open for her. It’s not freezing quite yet, but the warmth inside the store is pleasant and it hits them both like a gentle breath. “Can I ask about all that?”

“About what?” Rayla cocks her head at him curiously. The pet shop door swings shut behind them and an electronic bell rings through the shop. 

“The—uh—dancing, I guess,” says Callum. He purses his lips carefully, afraid he might be prodding too much. He’s asked all sorts of questions about dancing before, but it’s all been technical stuff—the name of this movement, the term for that style, the history of this piece—but he’s only ever asked about _her_ once or twice, and that was a week ago, when they first got the assignment. She seems to otherwise like her privacy but it’s weird that she and Ez get along so well and he’s only realized so recently that she’s not at all what he expected. “I can not, if you don’t want me to,” he adds hastily. “If it’s all private, that’s okay, I just thought…” 

But Rayla doesn’t brush him off. She rolls her shoulders and ducks her head, a bit like she’s bracing herself, but there's no hostility in her movements. She nods. “Go on.”

“Oh. Uh.” Callum coughs. He hadn’t thought he’d get this far. Ez is already over in the amphibian section and without him to act as a buffer, this suddenly feels a lot more intimate. “You just seem… really dedicated. And, like, I’ve been watching your rehearsals all week and from an outside point of view, your routine looks incredible but—I dunno, I guess I’m just wondering why you spend every lunch hour rehearsing instead of with everyone else.”

Rayla blinks at him. Then she looks away and stares at the scuffed linoleum. “I like the quiet,” she says. Then she grimaces and tries again. “The cafeteria’s always so packed, y’know, and these concerts are—they’re really important.”

“Oh,” says Callum. “Are there, like, talent scouts and stuff that come to watch or something?”

“You could say that.”

Her answer sounds clipped. Callum waits a second or two to see if she’ll say anything else, but she doesn’t, and he figures she’s about done with it. He coughs. “Your—um—your dads then. I just—I noticed you call—uh—Ethari?—by name?”

“Oh.” Rayla does actually laugh this time and the air suddenly feels a lot less tight. “They’re not really my dads. They’re… closer to uncles, I guess? I’ve been living with them since I was eight and it’s just easier to call them my dads to everyone else.”

Callum makes an _ah_ of understanding. “That makes sense. But then… are your parents away or something?”

And just like that, the tension is back. Rayla’s shoulders stiffen. Her back pulls straight like she’s on stage and being watched. “Yeah,” she says shortly. “They’re away. They’ve got other stuff to deal with.” 

Again, Callum waits, but she doesn’t elaborate and there’s something cold in the way she stares at the floor. The question settles in his throat before he has the chance to think it through— _how come they’re not here?_ —because it’s ridiculous to him that they’re not. He and Rayla might not know each other very well just yet, but even _he_ can see the unfairness of it in her face. Do they just not _know_ how incredible a dancer their daughter is? Do they not _approve_ or something _?_ He opens his mouth to ask, all caution thrown into the wind—but Ez reappears at their side, his smile wide, his arms laden with toad supplies, and the hardness in Rayla’s eyes vanishes immediately as she takes a bag of pebbles out of his arms.

“Is it your frog’s birthday or something?”

“Bait’s a toad,” says Ez pointedly. “I forgot the brand of probe Ethari recommended. Do you remember what it was?”

“Uh.” Rayla shakes her head. “I’ll ring him, hang on.” She follows Ez back through the aisles with her phone against her ear, and that’s that. It’s like the conversation about her parents never even happened, but Callum frowns after her anyway. 

He thinks he might be mad. He’s not sure why.

x

When he and Ez get home that evening, Claudia and Soren are in their living room playing _Mario Kart_ on Dad’s vintage Nintendo. In hindsight, he probably should have guessed—there’s a lot yelling and a lot of swearing happening right now, and Callum’s actually a little concerned that his left eardrum might have burst at the sound of Soren’s frustrated howl—but he almost drops Ez’s stuff at the sight of Claudia, still in her cheer uniform, sitting cross-legged on the couch. 

“There you are!” she says, grinning cheerfully at them. “We wondered what you two were up to today! Where’ve you been?”

Callum flushes and fumbles with the bag of toad supplies in his arms. “I—um—I think a better question might be what are _you two_ doing in our living room?”

“Dad’s talking business with Harrow,” grumbles Soren, tossing his controller onto the rug. “Claudia wanted to come say hi.”

Callum raises an eyebrow at her. “You did?”

“Yeah,” chuckles Claudia, “I haven’t seen you all week.”

“Um.” Callum coughs a little, his throat suddenly _very_ dry. “Yeah, you have. We have three classes together.”

“Those don’t count,” she says, waving him off lazily. “That invitation to have lunch at our table is still a thing. You still haven’t taken me up on it. What are you doing most lunchtimes that you can’t come and spend some time with us?”

Callum stares at her, and Ez and Soren are staring at him looking various shades of intrigued. Heat prickles at the back of Callum’s neck, and he coughs again and sets Ez’s bag of toad supplies on the nearest armchair. “I—um—” He flushes some more. “I’ve been hanging out with Rayla. That’s where we were today, actually. We were… talking about some stuff. For—for the assignment Mr. Ibis set.”

The warmth in Claudia’s smile wanes. “On a Saturday?” 

“Uh—yeah, we wanna do well.”

Claudia pops her lips. “You’re spending a lot of time with her lately,” she says, although there’s something… _unfriendly_ in the way that she says it. Her smile is still fixed, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Is there something we should know?”

“Um. No?” Callum lets out a sheepish kind of laugh. “We’re just—we’re friends.”

“You weren’t before.”

“We didn’t know each other before. She’s actually pretty cool.”

A pause echoes through the living room. Ez and Soren look between them like spectators at a tennis match before Ez cuts in and the awkwardness lifts. 

“I gotta get all this stuff set up for Bait,” he says. “Callum, you wanna help?”

“Uh—yeah, sure. Are you two staying for dinner?”

“Probably not,” says Soren, sounding almost wistful. “Dad said they’d be done in a minute. We’ll probably be out of here in a few.”

“We can help too, though!” says Claudia, climbing off the chair. “Before Dad finishes up. What do you say, Sor-bear?”

“Excuse you, you owe me a rematch—”

“It’s fine,” says Ez, shoving the bag Callum had put down back into his arms. “It’s a two person job. We’ll be okay. Nice to see you both though!”

“Hang on, Ez, what are—”

He doesn’t get to finish the question. Ez ushers him down the hall, looking determined to be out of the noise, then slams their bedroom door shut behind them, and heaves a sigh as he dumps all of Bait’s things in the corner of the room. 

The egg is still in its incubator, sitting happily in its little nest of straw. The little bowl of water Rayla had put in there the other day could use a top up but it’s otherwise unchanged, despite the way Bait seems to glare at it from the opposite end of the desk.

Callum scowls. “What the heck, Ez? It’s been ages since they’ve come to visit!”

“Yeah,” says Ez sharply. “It’s been, like, two years, in fact. Don’t you think it’s a little weird that they’re coming to visit again _now?”_

“Not really? Maybe they’re just being nice?”

Ez shakes his head. “I dunno. Something’s not right. I can feel it.” 

**Author's Note:**

> There's a tweet somewhere that I can't find where someone was basically like "The Dragon Prince is a high fantasy version of that high school assignment where two kids have to look after an egg" (if you know it, please link me so I can credit appropriately) and I am tired and in the mood for something stupid and also struggling to get back into a regular writing routine, so anyway, here's a stupid high school au with that exact premise.


End file.
